


Loss of Control

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [20]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Altered Mental States, Demonic Possession, Demonstuck, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mind Control, Suicide Attempt, damn dirk, expanded from a drabble i wrote for a request meme on tumblr, i cant spell angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: A hunt goes wrong, Dirk gets possessed, things kind of go downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

The second you touch the doorknob you are aware that you made a mistake. More than a mistake. This is something that could get not just you, but everyone on this job killed. 

_**submit obey let me in stop resisting go to sleep let go**_

No fucking way will you do any of that. You know exactly what this is; D went over signs of demonic possession with you when you were ten years old, just in case anything ever happened. You're strong enough to resist this—

_**silly boy you are nothing you want me inside you want my power you want what you want**_

"Dirk?" Jake asks, right behind you. Cloth rasps against metal as he eases his gun out from under his shirt; technically, he shouldn't draw it yet. You're still in public, even if no one's around but you, him, and John. Weapons stay concealed until you get into the lair. 

_**him you want him tear his throat out let me have him break his legs and make him watch as you fuck the other one until he screams for you to kill him**_

_No,_ you say, or try to say. The demon hasn't managed full control yet, but it's immobilized you pretty fucking well; you can't warn John and Jake what's going on. Then need to get the fuck away, right now. 

_**yes yes yes let me in let me have them let me have your body and I can give you whatever you want give you the world give you blood blood blood blood**_

No, shit, no, you don't want—

The demon in your head _pushes_ , and it feels a lot like it breaks something in you. Your will to resist. Your _self._

Whatever it is, the thing shoves you aside and settles in your mind, sending tendrils of itself throughout your body. You can _feel_ its influence spreading as it takes your hand away from the doorknob, closes your hands into fists and lets them relax again, testing the limits of flesh and bone. Seeing how capable your body is of killing your loved ones. 

Capable. Very capable 

_**strong this body is strong a near perfect vessel**_

_No!_

**_yes yes yes YES_**

"Dirk, what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?" Jake asks as the demon turns to grin at him. 

Fuck. Fuck. You're going to kill him. The demon is going to kill him, break your mind that way, take him and then take John—

John, whose main job is identifying shit like this. "Jake, _move_!" he almost screams, and shoves the other before he can do more than start to reach for his gun. The demon in your head laughs—this is going to be _fun,_ they think they can survive this, they think _you_ can survive this, ripping their hope apart will be sweeter than honey—

_Don't you fucking touch them!_

_**I touch no one but you**_

You struggle against the power controlling you. It's a completely useless effort, with no effect other than to send blinding jolts of pain through your being; the demon still lunges at Jake, the combination of your weight and John's shove adding together to send him and you both crashing to the concrete. 

Jake yelps in pain, and you cut the noise off by closing both hands around his throat, strangling him as he writhes under you in a vain attempt to get free. 

_**see yourself in his eyes see him realize you are killing him see him see you**_

You do. 

You see Jake's face as he fights for air. 

You—

Something's jammed up against the back of your neck, cold metal on skin. Before the demon can turn to grab John, slam him down against the ground until his head's a mass of bone fragments and pulverized flesh, that contact sparks into galvanizing pain, breaking the demon's control over you for an endless moment. 

Unfortunately, you don't actually get control either. The shock from the taser just fucks you up enough for Jake to buck you off, long enough for John to push you down to the ground and kneel on your chest, pinning your wrists down. 

"Jake—" John has to stop talking, wincing as the demon hisses and tries to throw him off. "Phone—" 

"I'm trying!" He's also coughing; you're surprised he managed to get even those two words out. You can see him fumbling out John's phone, tapping at the screen with hands that aren't even a little steady; did he get zapped through his contact with you? 

Maybe. Probably. Fuck, you hurt him, you hurt him, you _hurt_ him—

_**the diviner is nothing the diviner will die accept that and tell me what he is trying to do**_

Fuck no. You don't give up information to things like this. 

_**OBEY**_

The demon goes still under John, focusing all its considerable power on forcing answers out of you rather than getting free. It's a lot like being crushed to death and ripped apart at the same time; if you had control of your vocal cords you'd be screaming yourself hoarse, begging for it to stop. You are begging for it to stop. 

Then Jake _finally_ finds the file Rose recorded, and chanting that most people would write off as gibberish starts playing through the smartphone's speakers. 

For a second, nothing happens, and you hope that John has enough sense to shoot you in the head when this doesn't work. 

Then the demon _howls_. Then it tries to burrow deeper into your mind, anchor itself so it can cling to you, so it can resist the exorcism spell. You refuse to let it. You fight against its attempts, ignore the pain and shove at it until its tanglehold on you weakens and fails. Until it's forced out of your mind and body.

John has enough sense to get off you when you start gagging, thankfully. You're not sure what would happen if he touched the thick black slime that you vomit onto the concrete, but you don't really want to find out. 

As soon as you stop throwing up, John pulls you to your feet and pushes you at Jake. "Take care of him, I'll be right back." 

You want to argue, but Jake's already got his arms wrapped around you, keeping you from following John into the building, and you need to cling to him and try to tell him how sorry you are. 

By the time John slips back out, you haven't even managed one coherent word, just a lot of garbled stammering. Jake's been shushing you the entire time, gently dissuading you from touching the rising bruises on his throat. "Empty?" he asks, looking over as John digs a sharpie out of his pocket to start making an exorcism circle around the shit you threw up. 

"Empty. The fuckers abandoned the lair and tried to use _traps_ on us." God, John sounds offended. He finishes the circle, waits for the flare of light within it to fade, and puts the marker back in his pocket. "Let's get the heck out of here." 

Good idea.

* * *

John has to be the one to drive, since you can't seem to let go of Jake long enough to do much of anything. The fact that the two of you are tangled up in the front passenger seat without any sort of seatbelt whatsoever is probably illegal. 

...oh well. It'll be fine. John's a safe driver, it'll be fine. 

You just wish you could find the wherewithal to tell them both how fucking sorry you are. You failed them, failed yourself by letting that demon get control of you. You can't believe you did that. 

_I should reach down and get Jake's gun and eat a goddamn bullet,_ you think. You're actually halfway through the motion of doing just that before Jake grabs your hand and your realize that the fucking demon was apparently one of the ones that leave compulsions even after they've left or been forced out. _Well, shit._

"Sorry," you mumble. Hey, a word. One word. Can you maybe produce a few more? 

...apparently, no. Damn. 

"Shush, love," Jake murmurs, even though you aren't actually saying anything. His voice is hoarse, and probably will be for a few days. "You fought well, I promise you. I'm all right. Do you understand me? I'm fine." 

"No," you force out. 

"Yes," he says right back. 

John's hand joins Jake's on your back, for just a moment. Even though you kind of want him to keep them both on the wheel, the touch is comforting. "You didn't hurt anyone very much," he points out reasonably. "And hey, remember who said we should keep at least a couple of Rose's exorcisms recorded on our phones all the time? That was you, Dirk. And you were right, weren't you?" 

No words want to come out of your mouth, but you manage to nod. You have to press your face against Jake's shoulder to deal with the tears that instantly overflow in response to that—the logical side of your mind notes that the demon's compulsion apparently extends to making you feel immensely guilty for even thinking that you aren't to blame on this situation.

(The rest of your mind just wants to curl up and die.) 

(The knowledge that your boyfriends—your _partners_ —won't let you do that is intensely comforting, and that fucker's magic can't wipe that away.) 

"Thanks," you mumble into Jake's damp shirt. "Love you. Both of you." 

Jake just nods and holds you close, and John pats your back again. Both gestures mean the same thing, you know. 

_It's okay_. And _I love you too._

* * *

Like the egotistical idiot you are, you assume that because you can handle letting go of Jake, you'll be able to get from the truck to the door to the house. This of course means that you get three steps before a wave of dizziness hits you and your legs just fucking stop functioning in any capacity. 

_Don't panic, don't panic, I'm not on the concrete, this isn't going to end with my skull cracked open and blood all over the driveway—_

Fuck. That's kind of disappointing, though. You want your blood to spread across the ground, drip into the earth and—

John catches you before you can really fall, pulling your arm up over his shoulders so he can lean down and scoop you up into his arms like he's going to carry you across the threshold. (He probably is going to do that, actually. No way can you get there on your own power.) Any other time, you'd laugh and tease him just so he'd tease you back, but right now... 

Right now, you just lean your head against his shoulder and close your eyes. "John." 

"I got you, Dirk, I promise—" 

"I know you do, but there's. Fuck. In my head, there's—the demon—it's gone, but—" 

Wait, seriously? You can't tell him about the compulsion? 

This might complicate things a bit. And by _complicate things_ , you mean _significantly lower your chances of surviving this_. 

"John, don't fucking leave me," you warn him, because that's all that your traitor tongue will allow you to say. 

"We're not leaving you, love. Calm down," Jake soothes, one hand brushing against your hair as he steps past John to unlock the door and hold it open. "Come on, let's get this mess cleaned up." 

"I'm with you on that one," John mumbles. He kicks the door shut behind him as he steps through, going straight for the couch to set you down. "Let me see your neck?" 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Jake nods and heads for the bathroom, probably for either the better lighting or because the medkit that you keep in there is more extensive than the one under the couch, and your breath catches in your chest as John follows him. It's the logical thing for them both to do; there's only going to be twenty feet between you and them, one room, they'll only barely be out of sight. It's fine. Nothing should happen. 

Except there's an idea forming in your head, and the vestiges of magic left there aren't going to let you say no to it. You're already leaning over the couch, fishing around under it for that damn first aid kit.

_I'm going to fucking die,_ you think, as you watch your hands fumble the box open, scattering the contents across your lap as you dig for the bottle of painkillers. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, please—_

You're horrified and relieved at the same time, the compulsion mixing with the unaffected portions of your mind. It's not _quite_ strong enough to override your will, but you can't fucking throw it off! What the fuck's wrong with you? D taught you better than this, if this is the best you can do to stay with Jake and John, maybe you don't even deserve to stay. Swallowing as many of the pills as you can is the right way to go, right? You should—

_Wait. Fuck. Stop._

That's the compulsion making you think that, you realize, and almost sob in frustration. You can't even tell what's you and what's the fucked-up magic. 

You also can't get the bottle open, thank god. Of course, as soon as you let yourself feel a little bit of relief, of _hope_ , the childproofing finally fails, pills spilling all over your lap. 

_No. Fuck. Please._

Your hands don't seem to have any plans to respond to your willpower; you're already gathering up the spilt pills, trying to get a handful so you can shove them into your mouth—

"Dirk! Fuck!" Jake's startled voice makes you jump; you instinctively raise the handful of pills that you've managed to gather to your face—maybe you can swallow before he stops you, get a lethal or near-lethal dose that way, you can—

_No!_

You can't manage to spit that shit out, but you force yourself to freeze, not chewing or swallowing or doing _anything_ for the few seconds it takes John to reach you. He grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open so he can get you to spit out the painkillers, and the fact that there's tears in your eyes has absolutely nothing to do with how rough he is. 

"I'm sorry," you choke out as soon as your mouth's clear again. "Fuck, I—the _demon,_ John, don't—" 

"Don't leave you?" John's eyes light up with understanding and guilt, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he looks up at Jake. "You need to get Rose on the phone. Like, now." 

"What the absolute fucking hell is wrong with—" 

"C'mon, Jake, I _know_ you're at least as smart as me—either that wasn't the right exorcism and he's still got the demon in him, or this is some kind of side effect." 

You want to tell him it's the latter. Unfortunately, all you seen to be capable of is clinging to John and slowly making a wet spot on his shirt, because you're crying and there's nothing you can do about it. 

"Well, scoot over then." 

John shifts slightly, pulling you with him. A moment later Jake sits down beside you, one hand resting on your head as he taps at his phone with the other. 

It rings for a long time. Or at least it seems like it does. You're afraid she won't answer. 

Then, " _Alright, John, what is it this time?_ " 

John winces. "Dude, why didn't you use _your_ phone?" 

"Because yours was in my pocket, you bloody idiot—" 

" _Oh. Hello, Jake. Apologies for the curt response; John tends to call for, shall we say, less than urgent reasons._ " Rose sounds more amused than apologetic. " _Since it's you placing this call and not him, I'm going to assume there actually is some sort of crisis?_ " 

"You could say that," Jake admits, and looks to John for the specifics. 

"Dirk got possessed," John says. "By something violent, or at least something that wanted to kill Jake at least—" 

"Both." You have to force the word out. "Both of you. I would've killed both of you." 

Jake makes a soft sound and scoots closer to wrap one arm around you, and John continues, "Okay, so it wanted Dirk to kill both of us, it was strong enough to overpower his will because you _know_ he wouldn't go down without a fight, and your exorcism we recorded seemed to take care of it." 

" _It did, I assure you. You'd know if he'd been possessed by something powerful enough to resist being cast out. Dirk, are you all right?_ " 

"...yeah." 

"He's lying," Jake tells her almost immediately. "That _thing_ did something to him—he tried to kill himself, Rose—" 

" _Oh, fuck._ " There's a muffled thump from her side of the call, like she dropped something. " _Dirk?_ " 

"Here." 

Rose says something in a language that almost sounds like Latin. There isn't anything you understand in the minute or so of her speech, though. " _John, did that have any effect?_ " 

"Uh, no?" 

" _Thank the gods. He's not still possessed; whatever took him must have left some magic in him when it left, the vengeful bastard. It'll wear off—I can't give you an_ exact _time for it, but I doubt the effects will last more than two or three hours, especially with his warding tattoo._ " 

Both Jake and John noticeably relax at that news. You don't. You _can't_. Two hours is enough time for you to kill yourself ten times over...

" _Stay with him until you're absolutely sure his system's clear_ ," Rose warns. " _Preferably somewhere without any weapons in easy reach; it isn't as if Dirk's going to become violent again. He's a danger to himself and no one else, right now._ " 

"Gotcha." John nods, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "That, we can do." 

" _Call me back when this is over, all right?_ " 

"Will do, Rose," Jake promises, and ends the call. "Three hours?" 

"You're about to get the laptop and put _Avatar_ in, aren't you." 

"Well. _Ghostbusters_ isn't anywhere near long enough, and neither are any of your beloved Nicolas Cage films." You can just imagine the sweetly evil smile on Jake's face right now. "So...I believe _Avatar_ would be the next logical choice, wouldn't it?" 

John just huffs. "You better bring snacks, dick." 

Jake laughs, and after a second you hear the door to the bedroom open and close. The fact that he's not in the room with you makes your anxiety spike higher, but John's still here. He's got you. You can't do anything stupid, no matter how much you want to. 

You don't want to. 

You probably would if you could, though. 

Goddamnit. 

At least this is temporary. And at least you have Jake and John to help you through it. You'll be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

Dirk and John both fall asleep less than an hour into _Avatar,_ and while John does that odd thing where he wakes up, realizes he's not really awake at all, and drifts back off again a good half-dozen times over the course of the movie, Dirk stays firmly planted in unconsciousness. Well, he stays there until the credits start rolling up the screen. 

Then you feel his weight shift, coming to bear just a little more heavily on your chest, and look down to see sleep-dazed orange eyes staring up at you. He always does this, wakes up just as a movie ends. You still don't know how he can manage it. You don't really care _how_ ; it's easy to write it off as one more wonderful, miraculously mysterious thing about your beautiful hunter. 

"Hey, love," you say to him, softly so as not to wake John. "How are you feeling now? It's been a few hours, maybe—" 

Dirk blinks, shrugs a bit, and eases himself further onto your lap, one hand coming up to trace across the sore places on your throat. "I don't think I'm awake enough to feel anything," he murmurs, mouth twisting just a bit. (Is he lying? Is he in pain? You don't _know._ ) "I feel...gross." 

"You aren't, I promise you." 

But he pulls away when you try to kiss him, hands planted on your chest to push himself up. "Jake, come on. Please. I want—I need a shower. I feel fucking _disgusting,_ you don't understand..." 

You're not entirely sure you do, but you definitely understand the pleading note in his voice, how desperate his eyes are. When you kiss his forehead rather than his lips, he doesn't push you away. "All right. I'm coming." 

"I don't think you need to." The look in his eyes leaves you fairly sure that he's right, that the demon's compulsion's over and done, run its course. That's a relief, but it doesn't change your desire to keep him in sight. 

Still... "Do you want me to not, then?" 

"Oh fuck no." Dirk rolls his eyes, oh-so-carefully pushing himself off you and off the couch, amazingly managing to get himself free of John without promoting more than a soft murmur from him. He nudges one of the pillows closer to John, and smiles for a heartbeat when John latches onto it without opening his eyes. "You still should know that you have the _option_ to get some space from me again, right? As in, if you want to." 

"Don't be ridiculous." You get to your feet as well, careful to not brush against John. It'd be stupid if you were the one to wake him, after Dirk was so careful. "Space from you is the last thing I want at the moment, I think." 

Dirk gives you a quick, sharp glance, but doesn't say anything in answer to that. Just leads the way to the bathroom. He doesn't lock the door and neither do you—who is there to bar entry to? Hal's not here, and if John wakes and comes looking for the two of you you'd rather have him _find_ you; it's not like you haven't walked in on him and Dirk before, it wouldn't be the end of the world if he returned the favor now, would it? 

Your mind tries to cross-connect that with today's events, say something about the end of the world as it pertains to you. You smash that attempt down and start fooling with the water, hoping to get it to the proper temperature before Dirk finishes undressing. 

Of course, that means that _you_ still have your damned clothes on when Dirk brushes past you to step into the shower. Hmph. 

You suppose things could be worse. This means you can watch him as you fumble your clothing off, trace the lines of his shoulders and how they slowly change as he relaxes. How his head tips back and his eyes close as the water soaks into his golden hair, darkening it and smoothing it down to lie flat against his head, more orderly than it ever is when he has it pulled back. How he goes almost completely still there under the stream of water, not even trying to do anything other than just _be._

You're nude and standing there watching your lover wait for you to step forward and join him, and the fact that _you almost lost him today_ really hits you. You almost lost him, he nearly died, he nearly _killed himself_ —

"Jake?" Dirk's eyes snap open, in response to some sound that you don't even hear yourself make, and his face twists up in not-quite-physical pain at your expression. "Fuck, Jake, don't cry—" 

Well, you actually weren't. Not until he looked at you like that. 

Dirk moves as if he's going to step out of the shower; instead, you step in next to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking a breath that has a bit of moisture from the spray in it. At least the water on your face will let you deny your tears. 

"Hey," he almost whispers, blinking at you. This close, it doesn't matter that you're not wearing your glasses; you can see water droplets clinging to his eyelashes like tiny diamonds against the gold. "Jake, hey. I'm sorry." 

Sorry? He's _sorry_? You choke on the painful irony, actually literally choke, and Dirk makes a concerned sound and tightens his grip on you just a little. 

"I—" you begin, and have to breathe because apparently you forgot to do that before you tried to speak. Dirk waits for you to figure things out. "I almost lost you." 

"I'm right here. I'm fine." 

"You almost _weren't_! Dirk, it was so close, you almost—I should have known, Dirk, what good am I if I can't—" 

"Jake," he says, and even that's enough to silence you, because his voice goes rough on your name, shaky-quiet like he wants to say more than that.

You can't listen. You stop trying to stay calm, and lean against him, really weeping against his chest with great shameful sobs that don't have an ounce of shame in them because there's only Dirk here to hear and the sound of the water against your skin and the tiles almost drowns it out anyway, or at least you can tell yourself it does. It doesn't, not really, because you can hear him murmuring in your ear— _it's okay, I'm here, you're here, we're both here, John's in the other room, it's okay_ —the same words over and over, as much for his own comfort as for yours. 

God, he shouldn't have to comfort you. You're not the one who nearly died. 

As if he's reading your mind, one of Dirk's hands comes up to your neck, fingertips tracing along the sore spots there in a way that makes you gasp and shudder against him, your sobs halting for a moment as your breath catches. That's always been a place you love for him to touch you, and now is no exception, but the faint pulse of pain from the bruises fucks your body up. Makes it not know how to react. 

"I hurt you," he mumbles into your wet hair. "I—I didn't kill you. Barely." 

"You wouldn't kill me," you whisper to him, pulling back enough to free up one of your own arms, capturing his hand and bringing it up to kiss the palm that was pressed against your windpipe four hours ago. He'd closed his eyes when you pulled back, but they open again at the soft touch of your lips on his skin. "Didn't. Wouldn't. Won't." 

"And I didn't die." Dirk closes his hand around yours, squeezing gently as he leans in to kiss you. His month's wet, like he's been letting the water run into it, but at least the lingering dark taste of the demon's magic is almost washed away. 

Even his kiss can't chase away the guilt, though, and when he pulls back you start, "But I had a vision of today, a dream, that's why we knew where to go, I should have seen the danger—" 

"Nope." Another kiss, and a gentle nip to your lower lip when you try to talk through it. "You're not omniscient. No one expects you to be." 

"When it comes to your safety— _no,_ Dirk—" (he whines when you push him back instead of letting him kiss you but doesn't fight it, just blinks water out of his eyes and watches you) "—when it comes to your safety, and John's, I _should_ be." 

Dirk just shrugs, kissing you again once he's sure you're done. "...look at it like this." Another kiss, at the corner of your mouth. "We're alive. You and John—" Another, low on your jawline, like he's working his way to your neck. "—you did so fucking amazing today, saved my ass at least—" Actually _on_ your neck, feather-light over a bruise, and tears slip from your eyes because he's so _damn_ gentle that you know he's afraid he'll hurt you again. "—at least twice." And he pulls back, meets your eyes. "It's okay. Maybe you didn't see anything in the future because you didn't _need_ to; the two of you pulled us through just fine." 

...he's right. 

He's probably right. 

And you knew, or should have known, that Dirk would never blame you for not seeing every detail with your divination. You knew that, but his telling you _it's okay_ in that gloriously gentle voice, his reassurance that you did fine, you were _amazing_ , triggers tears. Again. 

This time, though, it's quiet and almost calm, and he's quiet as he holds you close. When he does speak it's a good three minutes later, and there's something in his tone that's almost amused. 

"...okay, it's your choice if you want to actually _finish_ this shower or take advantage of the fact we're both naked for something else." 

You roll your eyes and smack his shoulder with one hand, pulling away and making a face at him. "Dirk, darling?" 

"Yes?" 

"Hand me the shampoo." 

He laughs, and reaches for the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this puts the Demonstuck 'verse over 100k words! to celebrate I'm probably going to make the next chapter of this smut. Possibly very badly written smut.
> 
> edit: [smut is here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071963)


End file.
